


221C: A Sherlock Fanfiction

by Sunburst326



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunburst326/pseuds/Sunburst326
Summary: Allison Cooper is not your average girl. She is an intelligent loner, a social outcast of sorts. Moving to London seemed the best plan when she had some family troubles, and she takes 221c Baker Street, the flat right under the man who will change her life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Yes, this is Sunburst from Wattpad, and this is my Sherlock fanfiction. I did not steal it from Wattpad, this is my original work. Enjoy!

It was a cold and blustery day. I had my collar turned up against the wind. All the people passing were just a blur. Finally, I saw it. 221c Baker Street.   
I let the knocker fall. The knocker to 221b was skewed to the left. Someone obviously pulled the door shut using the knocker. Probably didn't even realize it either, based on the fact that it wasn't straightened.  
An older woman opened the door and ushered me in, introducing herself as Mrs. Hudson.   
“You must be Allison Cooper! Come on in, love, and I'll fix you a cuppa.” I was practically overwhelmed by her motherly attentiveness as she swept me past the stairs and into my new flat which was in the basement. “But remember, I'm not your housekeeper.”  
I nodded as she handed me a cup of tea. It was good tea. I realized I was standing in the middle of a sparse flat in my parka and boots, holding a cup of tea. I set the cup down on the mantle and pulled my coat off and hung it in the coat closet. Time to move in.

…

“Hey Sherlock?” No reply. I was over at his flat because Mary was having dinner with some friends, a girls’ night. So, I was stuck here, at 221b, with a sulky, unresponsive arse. Great.  
“Sherlock!”  
“What. What is so important, John?” He sounds so enthusiastic. I thought sarcastically.   
“I think you have a new neighbor, in 221c. I saw the moving van and everything. Maybe you should go say hello and introduce yourself?”  
“Ugh. Neighbors. Neighbors are boring. Introductions are boring. People are boring, John!”  
“Yes, yes, I know, everything is boring! Just please don't shoot the walls again! And it's only human decency to introduce yourself to a new neighbor!”  
“Decent. Ugh. Decent is boring!”  
I stuck my head out of the kitchen to see him sprawled out on the couch, like a giant, skinny, pale, genius starfish. He was wearing sweatpants, a white tee shirt, and his usual blue dressing gown.  
“Fine, stubborn arse. I'll do it for you.” To this he had no reply. Only stared at the ceiling, unmoving, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

…

I was unpacking my cups when I heard a knock at the door. I answered, so see a man about my height, with grey blonde hair, shifting from leg to leg rather uneasily. It was Dr. John Watson. I loved his blog!  
“Erm, is there anything I can do for you sir?” I asked, blowing my copper hair out of my face.  
“Erm yes, hi. I'm-”   
“Dr. John Watson.”  
“Yes...I'm visiting a friend of mine right now, and he hasn't the decency to come and introduce himself to you, so I'm doing it for him.” I chuckled.  
“Well, Dr. Watson, my name is Allison Cooper. Would you like to come in?” I let him in, and motioned for him to sit down in one of my big comfy chairs. I brought him a cup of tea, and sat down, sipping my own. “So what's he like, my neighbor?”  
“He's a major prick.”  
I laughed. “That's usually what people say about me! Only they use different words.”   
“His name is Sherlock Holmes, and he is one of the cleverest men you will ever meet, so stay on guard. He can see through you in a second.”  
“Not if I see through him first,” I chuckled to myself.  
“What was that?”  
“Oh nothing. So, where'd you wife go with her friends?”  
“How did you… Oh no. Are you serious?” He sat back in the chair with a sigh. “Not another one!” He muttered to himself.  
“I'm sorry Dr. Watson-”  
“John.”  
“I'm sorry John, but what do you mean, ‘not another one’?”   
“I fear that you are what Sherlock is.”  
“And that is?”  
“A genius.” To this I threw back my head and laughed.   
“Oh, John, you are funny! You are too funny!”   
“Well you knew I was married-”  
“Wedding ring.”  
“And you knew that my wife was at dinner with friends!”  
“That one was easy. Why else would a man be staying with his boring genius friend whom he used to live with, for the evening?”  
“How did you know…”  
“I read the papers. I knew who you were. I read your blog.”  
He sighed again. “Oh. I see.”  
“It's part of the reason I chose to rent this particular flat, you see. I'm a pretty big fan of your work, John. You're a great author. You should write a novel.”  
“You think so?” I nodded sagely. We talked for about fifteen more minutes until he got a text from his wife. He had to leave, and as he closed the door behind him, above me I heard a pistol shot, and then John’s voice, yelling. I heard the yelling response from a voice of another man, deeper and louder. I smiled to myself. Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

It was at least two in the afternoon the next day, and I still had not moved off the sofa. I had no proper reason to. I wasn't going anywhere today. John had said that I had a new neighbor. Ugh. People. So boring and predictable.  
There was a knock at the door. “Mrs. Hudson, for the fifth time, leave me alone!” I shouted, irate.  
“I'm not Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock.” Said a woman's voice, muffled by the door. She had a good singing voice, an alto, based on the tonality of her speech. She was most likely 25 to 27, and based on the level at which the voice came from, she was about 5’6”, John’s height. My new neighbor. “May I come in?”  
“If you must.” Much to my annoyance, she opened the door. I looked up. She was exactly how I thought she would be.  
Her hair was a deep copper, and her eyes were so green they practically glowed. She had a face like a plover’s egg. Quite pale and very freckled. She looked to be about 120 pounds. She was wearing a sage green jumper and dark wash skinny jeans. Her coat was tan.  
“Hello, Sherlock. I'm your new neighbor.”  
“I know that.”  
“I know you do.” She adjusted her coat, and I saw that her fingernails were painted an aggressive shade of cherry red. It made her pale, slender, piano playing hands look all the more colourless. “I just came to introduce myself. My name is Allison Cooper. I just moved to London.”  
“From where?” Now of course I was just asking this out of formality. I could tell by her accent that she was from the north, near the border of Scotland.  
“I think you know that already, Mr. Holmes. And please, if you must shoot the wall to amuse yourself, please don't shoot the wall the wall that we share. I will do the same out of courtesy.” I looked at her, confused.  
“You shoot the walls?”  
“Only when I'm bored. Which is pretty much always.” And with that, she winked, and slipped out the door. This girl was interesting. Maybe she wasn't as average as I originally thought. 

Two hours later, she appeared again. Without knocking. She just slipped into the kitchen. I heard the microwave running.  
“Is yours broken?” I shouted to her.  
“No.”  
“Then why are you using mine?” Why in the world would she use my microwave? This was not an average person move.  
“Don't worry, I took your experiment out. I'm heating up my coffee.”  
“But why here?”  
“I don't like being by myself all the time. It's dull.”  
“Oh I see. You're a people person.” Those last two words I spat like they tasted bad.  
“Nope.” She said, popping the p. “I just need another brain. And one as high caliber as yours will do splendidly.” She sauntered into my living room, casting off her shoes and plopping down in my chair. This lady was interesting. She stretched her feet out.  
“Ballet?”  
“Yeah. Fifteen years. Violin?”  
“Yes. You play piano.”  
“And cello.”  
“Ah.” She didn't say much after that, just sat and sipped her coffee quietly, her eyes closed. I noticed her eyes moving under the lids. Does she have a mind palace too? She seems clever enough. Not quite as clever as me.  
An hour passed. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open sharply, and she stood up rather quickly. “You company has been splendid Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but I really must be off. Catch you later!” And with that, she swirled out the door, her red flats still lying on my floor.  
I looked out the window. She was walking down the street. No shoes. I picked them up, and slipped on some of my own. I ran down the stairs and out the door, trying to catch up with her.

…

I was walking down the street, when suddenly a strong hand grabbed me by my upper arm and pulled me aside. I gave a little cry of surprise.  
“Don't be alarmed. It's just me.” It was Sherlock.  
“You are still in your robe and sweats!”  
“And you have no shoes.” I looked down at my feet. Bare. I burst out laughing.  
“What a pair we make, Miss Cooper. Me in my pajamas and you without shoes. Imagine all the attention we are drawing to ourselves.”  
I just kept laughing as he handed me my shoes. I pulled them on. “How bout you go get some proper clothes on, Sherlock!” He grinned, chuckling. He had a cute smile.

We were standing in his kitchen wearing white lab coats, boiling eyeballs in a saline solution for an experiment. The door opened and I heard the distinct thunk thunk thunk of John’s feet on the stairs.  
“Hello John!” I called out as he opened the door. He came into the kitchen.  
“What the bloody heck are you doing!?” He dropped the grocery bags that he was holding.  
“Erm, John? Why do you have grocery bags?”  
“Sherlock pays me. But again to my previous question, what the bloody heck are you doing!?”  
“Erm, boiling eyeballs. Obviously,” Sherlock said as he turned around, holding an eyeball with a pair of tongs.  
“Why?”  
“IT’S AN EXPERIMENT!” We both shouted at the same time. We looked at each other awkwardly.  
He brought the groceries into the kitchen, unloading the milk and eggs into the fridge. “You two….” He started a thought but trailed off. Fifteen minutes later, he came back into the kitchen, where we were cleaning up our finished experiment. “You two would make a great couple.”  
I looked at Sherlock, and he looked at me, and we both grimaced. “Er, no.” I winced, picking up a knife. Sherlock shook his head. “I don't date.”  
“Romance is overrated.” I set my knife down. Sherlock nodded.  
“Could not agree more.” I looked at him as he said this.  
“Don't agree with me.”  
“Don't agree with me!” John shook his head as Sherlock said this. He threw up his hands, exasperated.  
“I don't understand how you two don't see it!” And with that he walked out of 221b. I looked at Sherlock, and knew he was thinking the same thing. John's got it wrong. He has to have got it wrong.


End file.
